Craving
by Until the End of the World
Summary: Sequel to Mourning. Omniscient thirdperson narraration from House's POV. The plot explores House and Stacy post No Reason.
1. Millburn

**_Disclaimer: _**_If I owned them, Stacy would still be on the show snogging House's face off. They belong to David Shore and his minions, the cruel geniuses. "Love Burns" lyrics belong to Black Rebel Motorcycle Club._

Millburn has a good bar. House would know. He's been to lots of bars in his lifetime. Been so drunk that he couldn't walk straight. He can still walk now. Or at least he thinks he can. He hadn't meant to get this drunk when he walked in. No, he had only wanted a quick couple of shots, enough to give him courage for what he was about to do. He's about to ask Stacy Warner if she's interested in reclaiming the title of world's most dysfunctional couple with him.

He knows how stupid that is. That's why he's getting drunk in this bar. This bar is good because it's nice and quiet. For now, House is content to lay his chin down in the palm of one hand and stare at his other hand tapping the rim of his Whiskey glass. At midnight, the barkeep tells him to hand over his keys if he wants a seventh shot. House hands them over without thinking and takes the drink.

"Hey, gimme my keys," House commands as he holds out his hand to the bartender an hour later.

The bartender reaches under the counter. House thinks he's actually going to give him the keys to his bike when the barman sets a phone in his hand. "Call for a ride."

"Don't have one, I'm from out of town."

"Then call a cab," he replies as he hands House a phonebook. House knows he's drunk. He's drunk enough to accept that the barman's probably right. He'd fall off his bike if he tried to ride it now. Nevertheless, he glares at him as he flips open the book, trying to read the blurred letters.

Triangle Taxi service sends him a cab twenty minutes later. "5523 Chatham Road" House mutters as he climbs into the cab. "You got it." House stares out the window, seeing nothing as the scenery whizzes past. _What am I doing?_

It's been six months since he told Stacy to go back to Mark. Three months since his spontaneous, weekend trip to Calvin's Cottage, three months since he tried to forget Stacy forever and only ended up reminiscing about their times together. Two months since his subconscious slapped him in the face. Almost a month since he regained the use of his right leg. Six months of Stacy haunting his thoughts, six long months of seeing Stacy everywhere. Four months of mourning the loss of what he thought was their dead relationship and two months of craving "Vindaloo Curry". House was tired of it. He didn't care if it burnt his tongue off, didn't care if he got hurt, as long as he could stop obsessing about her.

There's another way to stop it, he supposes. An easier choice than the one he's executing presently. He thought about suicide, taking the coward's way out. The bottle of Vicodin ever rattling in his pocket … the thought of swallowing ten too many came one lonely night after another. But Greg House was never one to take the easy route. He often took the smart route, which is frequently confused with the easy route, but never the easy route. He convinced himself that suicide was a stupid way to die. There's no dignity in any death, but there's even less in a self-afflicted one. It screams self-pity and helplessness and no one is better off for it.

That's how he convinces himself not to swallow all the pills in the bottle. Utilitarianism. More people will benefit from him being alive than dead. If House lives, more patients live. If he did commit suicide …

To his father, it would be one more disappoint to add to the long list. But his mother would mourn him; it would devastate her. His coworkers would pay their respects if a funeral was held, but House doubted many of them would feel true sadness. Cuddy would feel guilty, that was inevitable. Wilson would be somber in between comforting the scores of needy women. Chase would pay his respects, leave flowers like a good Catholic boy, but it wouldn't be a personal thing. If Foreman didn't spit in his grave (House has made many enemies over the years – if Foreman didn't do it, several others would) he'd surely wonder why anyone was crying. Cameron would cry silent tears, she'd make that pathetic, broken face; his death would only damage her more. And Stacy … he just didn't know anymore. He's not even sure that any of it matters. Up until two months ago he'd have said that none of it did, that it didn't matter whether he lived or died, he was living without reason, but Moriarty had started the seed of doubt in that philosophy and for once, House is unsure.

For these reasons, for the benefit of others, Greg House has chosen life. Or maybe he's just more afraid of death than he is of change. Change is his other choice. He can't live the way he has been any longer. He can't drift from day to day, alternating between Vicodin and alcohol induced hazes, waiting for a case interesting enough to pull him out of his isolation and practically living in his past. That was how much he had been thinking about Stacy since she left for Short Hills. He'd been re-living moment after moment until he could barely keep track of the present. His obsession with her was beginning to cause problems, even manifesting itself physically at one point. He couldn't carry on living like that. Seeing her face in every crowd and torturing himself over a dead relationship, one that he'd killed twice.

Then there was Moriarty. That's what he's started to call the hallucination of the disgruntled ex-patient Jack Faragher, the man who shot him. Moriarty's story turned out to be much more interesting than that of Jack Faragher. No, Jack had much less reason to shoot him than Moriarty. Well, maybe not a lesser reason, but a smaller reason for sure. A reason that pooped and peed in its pants, then cried for mommy and daddy.

House had convinced Jack's wife to abort Jack's baby without telling him about it a few months before the shooting. The wife, at least fifteen years younger than him, had come into the clinic by herself for a routine check-up. She said she was having the baby for her marriage, not because she wanted it. House convinced her that she shouldn't be having the kid just to please her husband, and that her kid didn't deserve to be born to a mother that didn't want the responsibility and couldn't handle it. House told her that he could make it look like a miscarriage. Somehow, Jack found out and decided to hold House solely responsible for his marriage combusting. Jack thought his marriage would've lasted if they'd had a kid. Jack was an idiot, but Moriarty wasn't. No, Moriarty was much more complex and intelligent than Jack Faragher. That's because Moriarty wasn't Jack Faragher. He only borrowed his face because he didn't have one of his own … because Moriarty was not a man. He was the conscience of a man, House's conscience to be specific. Maybe that's how House had come to respect him enough to listen to him.

"That's all right, you don't have to say anything. Just let me soak into your subconscious. You think that the only truth that matters is the truth that can be measured. Good intentions don't count, what's in your heart doesn't count, caring doesn't count, that a man's life can't be measured by how many tears are shed when he dies. It's because you can't measure them. It's because you don't want to measure them. Doesn't mean it's not real… And even if I'm wrong, you're still miserable. Did you really think that your life's purpose was to sacrifice yourself and get nothing in return? No. You believe there is no purpose to anything. Even the lives you save you dismiss. You turn the one decent thing in your life and you taint it, strip it of all meaning. You're miserable for nothing. I don't know why you'd want to live."

"That'll be $25.40," snaps House from his reverie. House hands him what he thinks is $30 (he's so drunk he can't read the numbers on the bills) and tells him to keep the change as he steps out of the cab onto the well lit street. There are lights on in the house, but only one car in the driveway. It's Stacy's car, not Mark's, just as House expected. One of Wilson's nurses told Wilson that her home nurse friend Mary was dating a high school guidance counselor in Short Hills who had recently left his wife and walked with a cane. Like a good friend, or a friend that still thought House had made a mistake by pushing Stacy away, Wilson passed this information onto House. When Wilson told him, House acted nonchalant, but that was the moment this plan hatched in his mind.

House swallows and closes his eyes, gathering himself once more. He slowly and carefully makes his way up to her door and knocks softly, three times. Two clicks of the locks and Stacy's standing in front of him in her bathrobe.

"Hi Stacy."

_Never thought I'd see her go away  
She learned I loved her today  
Never thought I'd see her cry  
And I learned how to love her today  
Never thought I'd rather die  
Than try to keep her by my side_

Now she's gone love burns inside me  
Now she's gone love burns inside me  
Now she's gone love burns inside me

Nothing else can hurt us now  
No loss, our love's been hung on a cross  
Nothing seems to make a sound  
And now it's all so clear somehow  
Nothing really matters now  
Now we're gone and on our way

Now she's gone love burns inside me  
Now she's gone love burns inside me  
Now she's gone love burns inside me

She cuts my skin and bruise my lips  
She's everything to me  
She tears my clothes and burns my eyes  
She's all I want to see  
She brings the cold and scars my soul  
She's heaven sent to me

Now she's gone love burns inside me  
Now she's gone love burns inside me  
Now she's gone love burns inside me

Never thought I'd leave you like the way I do, yeah  
Kiss my love and I wish you're gone  
You can kiss my love and I wish you're gone  
Never thought I'd leave you like the way that I do   
Kiss my love and I wish you're gone  
You can kiss my love and I wish you're gone  
Now she's gone love burns inside me  
Now she's gone love burns inside me  
Now she's gone love burns inside me


	2. Her House

**_Disclaimer: _**_If I owned them, Stacy would still be on the show snogging House's face off. They belong to David Shore and his minions, the cruel geniuses. "Don't Come Knocking" lyrics belong to Bono and Andrea Corr._

House watches her features carefully as they register shock, briefly something that might be happiness, sadness, anger and back to shock as she looks down and notices the absence of his cane. She draws in a quick breath as she prepares to say something, then falls silent for a moment before she says "Where's your cane?" with a hint of concern.

House smiles a little as he says, "Long story." When she doesn't say anything after a moment and still has that look of concerned confusion that makes it look like she thinks he's been mugged and the assailant was short on firewood, he adds, "Don't worry," as he gives a little hop to demonstrate.

She still looks confused as she sighs and says, "What do you want, Greg?"

"Getting past the cold doorway is pretty close to the top of the list right now," he says, raising his eyebrows while looking as humble as an egomaniac can.

Stacy seems to consider it a moment before she opens her door and moves out of the way, allowing him entrance.

"Thanks," he mumbles a little awkwardly as he follows her inside.

"You want some coffee? You smell like you need it," she says as she walks toward the kitchen.

"Black with two sugars," House says as he enters the room behind her.

"That's what I figured. Your taste hasn't changed like mine."

House can't determine if that's subtext or not in his current state, so he decides to say nothing in response. While Stacy fixes the coffee, House takes the opportunity to study her and her home. A little weight lost from her already slender figure … stress? A blanked tossed on the couch next to the latest John Grisham novel… reading near 1 AM on a Friday night? Not that unusual, but a little strange for Stacy, who likes to go to bed early (unless there's something worth staying up for) and take advantage of the whole tomorrow. Blank spots where it looks like photos and paintings used to hang – Mark's? Dar Williams CD case on top of the stereo … not exactly cheerful music. Back to Stacy as he hears a spoon stirring in a cup… how did he fail to notice how short that bathrobe was before? Her tall, smooth legs are his to drink in before she turns around and he jerks his eyes upwards before she can notice him staring where he has no right. At least not anymore.

She sets his coffee down on the counter where he is seated on a red stool. She takes the seat one over from him. Maybe it's just so she can have better eye contact, but he senses avoidance and stares from the empty seat next to him to her and back again, asking a silent question. She just stares back at him with a passive expression and lets the silence continue.

"So, where's Mark?" he asks, trying to sound innocent.

"Would you have come here tonight if you didn't already know?"

He's forgotten how quick she is. He pauses before telling her, "Wilson's dating a nurse who has a friend who works as a home-nurse who mentioned that she's dating a recently divorced patient of hers. Did he cheat on you?"

"No, but I wouldn't have blamed him if he had."

"Are you seeing someone?"

"Would it matter if I were seeing someone? Marriage didn't seem to bother your conscience. Why Greg? So you can take me to the drive-in and make out in your dad's car? "

This elicits a small laugh from House and a fleeting smile. He's missed that wit. "No, but I was thinking you might have breakfast with me… And no, I don't think it would matter if you were seeing someone, which you obviously aren't… because I think you still love me more."

His last comment immediately darkens the awkward mood that was just lifting. Stacy stares into her coffee and House can see a terrible sadness in her eyes when she looks up. "Why are you doing this, Greg?"

"Because I'm tired of worrying about how you are and not being able to know. I'm tired of regretting all the things I'll never get to do with you because I'm too afraid of what might happen if we're together, I'm tired of being a coward. I'm tired of dreaming about my life with you and then waking up and realizing I don't have that anymore. I'm tired of call girls, peanut butter sandwiches, videogames and soap operas … I'm tired of my life without you in it, okay?" House didn't mean to say all of that, but as soon as he started he couldn't stop it from pouring out of him. Each word seemed faster and louder and more desperate. So much for keeping his dignity.

It's painfully ironic. Now that Greg is willing to risk it all she's not sure if she's ready to. Rejection from the man she's always loved not once but twice and divorce papers from a good man she'd convinced herself she loved not a month earlier have made her wary of delving back into the dangerous waters of her relationship with Greg. She can't even look at him when she says, "I don't know, Greg … I think it's best if you go now."

"Can't."

"What?"

"My bike's at Charlie's Tavern and I'm too drunk to drive."

"Fine, then stay at a hotel."

"Gonna drive me? You think Triangle Taxi is running at 2 AM in Short Hills? Or if any of your sleepy hotels are open for business right now?" He's almost gleeful as he recites these points.

Stacy rolls her eyes then walks over to a closet in the hallway and pulls out some linen. She hands them to him and says, "Looks like you'll have no trouble making the couch. You going to tell me what happened to your cane?"

"Yeah, over breakfast."

"Goodnight Greg," she says as she begins to walk towards the stairs, leaving him by the couch. She doesn't return the light kiss he places on her cheek after he grabs her arm but House can't help noticing the way she walks a little more confidently as she makes her way up the stairs. "Goodnight Stacy."

_You're everything I could want  
There's no house you couldn't haunt  
You're the key that could keep me in  
You're the sense, under the skin_

_I won't bring you roses  
I'll bring myself instead  
Time only is time  
For what is meant  
Not what was said_

_Don't come knocking, don't come knocking__  
__Don't come knocking at my door__  
__Don't come knocking, knock, knock, knocking__  
__Don't come knocking no more_

_You're a dream I could wake up in__  
__You're a fight I shouldn't try to win__  
__You're the door, I'll always leave open__  
__You're the heart that's always hopin'_

_Off a tree-lined avenue, in a college made of stone__  
__I'll sit there not dreaming, I would rather live alone_

**_Don't come knocking, don't come knocking_**_  
_**_Don't come knocking at my door_**_  
_**_Don't come knocking, knock, knock, knocking_**_  
_**_Don't come knocking no more_**

_All the stars in the sky__  
__They can't light our way, oh no__  
__All the maps, and all the charts__  
__All the dreams…__  
__Dreams …won't… leave… you…__  
__Home…__  
__Home…_

**_Don't come knocking, don't come knocking_**_  
_**_Don't come knocking at my door_**_  
_**_Don't come knocking, don't come knocking_**_  
_**_Don't come knocking at my door_**_  
_**_Don't come knocking, knock, knock, knocking_**_  
_**_Don't come knocking no more_**


	3. Chapter 3

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

- I'm very sorry that I haven't been able to update this fic in so long! I may have bitten off a bit more than I can chew with school this year. Rest assured however, that I will update this fic as soon as I can. Thank you for all the reviews and encouragement.


End file.
